Yesterday I went to the Wissahickon around 9 for a walk and took my camera with me to finally capture some pictures of the gorgeous foliage before it all falls to the ground.


The route I take, between Kitchens Lane and Livezy Lane entrances to the park, has two trail options. The lower trail is down by the river and much more scenic, but it's incredibly rocky and takes maybe 45-50 minutes round trip. You also have to go over Fingerspan Bridge and then down the 100 feet of stone steps, which I haven't been keen on doing lately while they're covered in damp leaves. The upper trail, which is for hikers, bikers, and horses, is less picturesque but faster, probably 30 minutes round-trip, especially if you jog the flatter parts. The high trail has its challenges, though, at least for someone like me who's afraid of heights: three massive concrete pipes that lead you across ravines. In two of the cases, you can easily follow a trail that leads you up and around them, but you have to cross the third if you want to go out to Livezey Lane (actually, there is an alternate route here too, but it takes you out like a quarter-mile up the road, so I don't bother). Naturally, the third is the longest and has the steepest ravine underneath it. Naturally.


Thus, since it freaks me out to cross the pipes even when conditions are totally dry, I've been extra freaked about doing it with damp shoes. Yesterday, however, I decided I was going to take the high trail to Livezy, then walk down the road so I could take the lower trail back to Kitchens, thereby giving me time to snap photos of my favorite vistas. So I braved the third pipe, freaking out all the while, and headed down to the water to take the low trail. While I was down there I noticed a cat lying in the leaves, and went over to introduce myself because, hey, I like to do those things. She was really friendly, and when I pulled my hand away she got up to follow me--and promptly fell over. Then she tried again, and fell again. Uh-oh. I watched her for a few minutes, thinking, "Man, this cat must be dying." Thomas kept falling over right before we took him to be euthanized, so I figured this cat was in the same position.

Of course this had to happen when I was something like two miles away from my car. I decided to hike back, get the car, drive to Livezey Lane and then take the cat to Phyllis' vet in Chestnut Hill. While I was headed back--thinking of how that cat almost definitely had fleas, and how I didn't even have a blanket in my car, nor my credit card or license, and should I go home to get something and come back and run the risk she'd drag herself into the woods--it did cross my mind that I could just leave her there and let nature take its course; it costs $90 to have a cat euthanized, but nothing to let it die on its own in the woods. Then I thought of my mom, and if she would ever leave a helpless sick animal to fend for itself, especially a cat, and I knew she wouldn't, not even if she was only helping it to be killed humanely.

Anyway, I made it back to the car and sped over to Livezey. The only thing I had in the car was an inflatable air mattress in the trunk, so I wrapped the cat in that once I'd successfully manhandled her into the car. She was clearly frightened, but so gentle: she didn't hiss or try to bite me. I took her to the vet fully expecting they would just tell me she needed to be put to sleep, but instead an hour later they told me they wanted to run a whole barrage of tests on her to see if she might just be weak and dehydrated. Expected cost: $190. I said OK, and went home. The vet called later with good news: her bloodwork looked good, she didn't have FIV or leukemia, she was just weak and anemic. He said they'd give her some steroids and antibiotics, and her problem walking might clear up on its own once she was stronger. He wanted to keep her overnight but told me I could take her home in the morning.

Phyllis and I talked about it last night, and decided that since this cat had clearly 'chosen' us, we should adopt her. We decided to give her a trial run for a few weeks on the front porch, and see if her walking issues went away. Phyllis asked if I'd thought of a name, and I lied and said no, but of course I had--I remembered she had a cute little grey face, so I thought we could call her Lady Jane Grey. (As I discovered today, only her head was grey; the rest of her was "blue cream," a diluted form of the tortoiseshell gene.) Luckily we still had most of Thomas' things, but I went to the store this morning and bought wet and dry catfood as well. Then I went to the vet.

I should have known something was up by the look on the receptionist's face when I said I was there to pick up the stray. She told me the vet tech would be out shortly "to talk." That is exactly they do to you at hospitals when someone is dead or dying, but I was so confident in what the vet himself had told me that I just shrugged. Then the technician came out, and told me that the cat had gone sharply downhill overnight. She could barely eat, and couldn't stand at all. They told me they needed to keep her for observation, but that it's likely she'll need to be euthanized anyway. I went in the back to see her, and even without any medical expertise I could tell how bad she was; she couldn't even raise her head to look at me when I petted her, whereas yesterday she could move around and try to follow me. I went back out front and signed the euthanization release form: if the vet decides her condition is too bad, they'll put her to sleep today, without waiting for me. I wouldn't be able to come back till tomorrow, and there's no reason to make her suffer.

Everyone was really nice and sympathetic, especially since they agreed she's a really sweet cat. I know it's better for her to be put to sleep painlessly than to die out there in the woods, alone, but I still found myself crying all the way home. It's my own fault for getting my hopes up, I know: I named her in my head, and set up the dishes and litterbox on the porch, and bought a couple different kinds of wet food because I didn't know what she'd like. The vet just seemed to optimistic about her chances yesterday that I thought it was a done deal. I was looking forward to having a cat again, but now it doesn't look like that will happen, or if it does, it won't be Lady Jane.

Today is a nasty, rainy day. I'm glad I decided to go to the park yesterday, when I don't normally go on Tuesdays. I'm glad I decided to swing down by the water when I would normally have just turned around on the high trail. I'm glad she's somewhere warm and comfortable, and that there will be people with her when they put her down. I'm just so sad that I couldn't take her home with me. And now I'm crying again, and I have to leave for the train. Dammit!